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OF 

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THE  SONG  OF  THE  SWORD 
AND  OTHER  VERSES 


THE  SONG 
OF  THE  SWORD 

AND  OTHER  VERSES 

BY 

W.  E.  HENLEY 


I 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
1892 


THE  DEVINNE  PRE88 


Copyright,  1892,  by 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons 


7 

3&f 


TO 


R.   T.   Hamilton-Bruce 


2O01669 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  SWORD,       ...    3 

LONDON  VOLUNTARIES  — 

i.  Forth  from  the  dust  and  din,     .  .    15 

ii.  Down  through  the  ancient  Strand,  .    22 

iii.  Out  of  the  poisonous  East,  .  .    27 

iv.  Spring  winds  that  blow,     .        .  .32 

RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS  — 

i.  Where  forlorn  sunsets  flare  and  fade,    39 
ii.  A  desolate  shore,         .        .        .        .41 
iii.  We  are  the  Choice  of  the  Will :  God, 

when  He  gave  the  word,        .        .    44 
ix 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

iv.  It  came  with  the  threat  of  a  waning 

moon, 48 

v.  Why,  my  heai't,  do  we  love  her  so  ?  .     50 

vi.  Space  and  dread  and  the  dark,  .    52 

vii.  There 's  a  regret,         .        .        .        .55 

viii.  Fresh  from  his  fastnesses,  .        .    57 

ix.  As  like  the  Woman  as  you  can,  .    60 

x.  Midsummer  midnight  skies,        .         .     63 

xi.  Gulls  in  an  aery  morrice,    .         .         .66 

xii.  Some  starlit  garden  grey  with  dew,  .    67 

xiii.  Under  a  stagnant  sky,        .        .        .69 

xiv.  Time  and  the  Earth,  .        .        .        .71 

xv.  You  played  and  sang  a  snatch  of 


song 


74 


xvi.  One  with  the  ruined  sunset,        .        .    76 
xvii.  Tree,  Old  Tree  of  the  Triple  Crook,    77 

x 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

xviii.  When  you  wake  in  your  crib,     .        .  80 
xix.  0  Time  and  Change,  they  range  and 

range, 83 

xx.  The  shadow  of  Dawn,        .                 .  85 
xxi.  When   the    wind   storms   by   with   a 

shout,  and  the  stern  sea-caves,     .  87 

xxii.  Trees  and  the  menace  of  night,          .  89 

xxiii.  Here  they  trysted,  here  they  strayed,  92 

xxiv.  What  should  the  Trees,      .        .        .94 

xxv.  What  have  I  done  for  you,  England,  99 


XI 


THE    SONG 
OF    THE    SWORD 

(To  Rudyard  Kipling) 


The  Sword 
Singing  — 
The  voice  of  the  Sword  from  the  heart 

of  the  Sword 
Clanging  imperious 
Forth  from  Time's  battlements 
His  ancient  and  triumphing  Song. 

In  the  beginning, 
Ere  God  inspired  Himself 
Into  the  clay  thing 
Thumbed  to  his  image, 
The  vacant,  the  naked  shell 
Soon  to  be  Man  : 
3 


THE  SONG  OF 

Thoughtful  He  pondered  it, 
Prone  there  and  impotent, 
Fragile,  inviting 
Attack  and  discomfiture : 
Then,  with  a  smile  — 
As  He  heard  in  the  Thunder 
That  laughed  over  Eden 
The  voice  of  the  Trumpet, 
The  iron  Beneficence, 
Calling  His  dooms 
To  the  Winds  of  the  world  — 
Stooping,  He  drew 
On  the  sand  with  His  finger 
A  shape  for  a  sign 
Of  His  way  to  the  eyes 
That  in  wonder  should  waken, 
For  a  proof  of  His  will 
To  the  breaking  intelligence : 
4 


THE   SWORD 

That  was  the  birth  of  me : 
I  am  the  Sword. 

Hard  and  bleak,  keen  and  cruel, 
Short-hilted,  long-shafted, 
I  froze  into  steel : 
And  the  blood  of  my  elder, 
His  hand  on  the  hafts  of  me, 
Sprang  like  a  wave 
In  the  wind,  as  the  sense 
Of  his  strength  grew  to  ecstasy, 
Glowed  like  a  coal 
At  the  throat  of  the  furnace, 
As  he  knew  me  and  named  me, 
The  War-Thing,  the  Comrade, 
Father  of  honour 
And  giver  of  kingship, 
The  fame-smith,  the  soug-master 
5 


THE  SONG  OF 

Bringer  of  women 
On  fire  at  his  hands 
For  the  pride  of  fulfilment, 
Priest  (saith  the  Lord) 
Of  his  marriage  with  victory. 
Ho !  then,  the  Trumpet, 
Handmaid  of  hei'oes, 
Calling  the  peers 
To  the  place  of  espousal ! 
Ho !  then,  the  splendour 
And  sheen  of  my  ministry, 
Clothing  the  earth 
With  a  livery  of  lightnings ! 
Ho !  then ,  the  music 
Of  battles  in  onset, 
And  ruining  armours, 
And  God's  gift  returning 
In  fury  to  God ! 
6 


THE   SWORD 

Glittering  and  keen 

As  the  song  of  the  winter  stars, 

Ho !  then  the  sound 

Of  my  voice,  the  implacable 

Angel  of  Destiny !  — 

I  am  the  Sword. 

Heroes,  my  children, 
Follow,  0  follow  me, 
Follow,  exulting 
In  the  great  light  that  breaks 
From  the  sacred  companionship  : 
Thrust  through  the  fatuous, 
Thrust  through  the  fungous  brood 
Spawned  in  my  shadow 
And  gross  with  my  gift ! 
Thrust  through,  and  hearken, 
0  hark,  to  the  Trumpet, 
7 


THE   SONG  OF 

The  Virgin  of  Battles, 
Calling,  still  calling  you 
Into  the  Presence, 
Sons  of  the  Judgment, 
Pure  wafts  of  the  Will ! 
Edged  to  annihilate, 
Hilted  with  government, 
Follow,  0  follow  me 
Till  the  waste  places 
All  the  grey  globe  over 
Ooze,  as  the  honeycomb 
Drips,  with  the  sweetness 
Distilled  of  my  strength  : 
And,  teeming  in  peace 
Through  the  wrath  of  my  coining, 
They  give  back  in  beauty 
The  dread  and  the  anguish 
They  had  of  me  visitant ! 
8 


THE   SWORD 

Follow,  0  follow,  then, 
Heroes,  niy  harvesters ! 
Where  the  tall  grain  is  ripe 
Thrust  in  your  sickles : 
Stripped  and  adust 
In  a  stubble  of  empire, 
Scything  and  binding 
The  full  sheaves  of  sovranty : 
Thus,  0  thus  gloriously, 
Shall  you  fulfil  yourselves : 
Thus,  0  thus  mightily, 
Show  yourselves  sons  of  mine 
Yea,  and  win  grace  of  me  : 
I  am  the  Sword. 

I  am  the  feast-maker : 
Hark,  through  a  noise 
Of  the  screaming  of  eagles, 
9 


THE   SONG  OF 

Hark  how  the  Trumpet, 
The  mistress  of  mistresses, 
Calls,  silver-throated 
And  stern,  where  the  tables 
Are  spread,  and  the  work 
Of  the  Lord  is  in  hand ! 
Driving  the  darkness, 
Even  as  the  banners 
And  spears  of  the  Morning ; 
Sifting  the  nations, 
The  slag  from  the  metal, 
The  waste  and  the  weak 
From  the  fit  and  the  strong ; 
Fighting  the  brute, 
The  abysmal  Fecundity ; 
Checking  the  gross, 
Multitudinous  blunders, 
The  groping,  the  purblind 
10 


THE  SWORD 

Excesses  in  service, 
Of  the  Womb  universal, 
The  absolute  Drudge ; 
Changing  the  charactry 
Carved  on  the  World, 
The  miraculous  gem 
In  the  seal-ring  that  burns 
On  the  hand  of  the  Master  — 
Yea !  and  authority 
Flames  through  the  dim, 

Unappeasable  Grisliness 

Prone  down  the  nethermost 

Chasms  of  the  Void ; 

Clear  singing,  clean  slicing ; 

Sweet  spoken,  soft  finishing ; 

Making  death  beautiful, 

Life  but  a  coin 

To  be  staked  in  the  pastime 
11 


THE  SONG  OE   THE   SWORD 

Whose  playing  is  more 
Thau  the  transfer  of  being ; 
Arch-anarch,  chief  builder, 
Prince  aud  evangelist, 
I  am  the  Will  of  God : 
I  am  the  Sword. 

The  Sword 

Singing  — 

The  voice  of  the  Sword  from  the  heart 

of  the  Sword 
Clanging  majestical, 
As  from  the  starry -staired 
Courts  of  the  primal  Supremacy, 
His  high,  irresistible  song. 


12 


LONDON 
VOLUNTARIES 

(To  Charles  Whibley) 


13 


I 

Andante  con  moto 

Forth  from  the  dust  and  din, 

The  crush,  the  heat,  the  many-spotted  glare, 

The  odour  and  sense  of  life  and  lust  aflare, 

The  wrangle  and  jangle  of  unrests, 

Let  us   take  horse,    dear  heart,  take  horse   and 

win  — 
As  from  swart  August  to  the  green  lap  of  May  — 
To  quietness  and  the  fresh  and  fragrant  breasts 
Of  the  still,  delicious  night,  not  yet  aware 
In  any  of  her  innumerable  nests 
Of  that  first  sudden  plash  of  dawn, 
Clear,  sapphirine,  luminous,  large, 
Which  tells  that  soon  the  flowing  springs  of  day, 

15 


LONDON  VOLUNTARIES 

In  deep  and  ever  deeper  eddies  drawn 

Forward  and  up,  in  wider  and  wider  way 

Shall  float  the  sands  and  brim  the  shores 

On  this  our  haunch  of  Earth,  as  round  she  roars 

And  spins  into  the  outlook  of  the  Sun 

(The  Lord's  first  gift,  the  Lord's  especial  charge) 

With   light,    with    living    light,  from    marge    to 

marge, 
Until  the  course  He  set  and  staked  be  run. 


Through  street  and  square,  through  square  and 

street, 
Each  with  his  home-grown  quality  of  dark 
And  violated  silence,  loud  and  fleet, 
Waylaid  by  a  merry  ghost  at  every  lamp, 
The  hansom  wheels  and  plunges.     Hark,  0  hark, 
Sweet,  how  the  old  mare's  bit  and  chain 

16 

1 


LONDON   VOLUNTARIES 

Ring  back  a  rough  refrain 

Upon  the  marked  and  cheerful  tramp 

Of  her  four  shoes !     Here  is  the  Park, 

And  0  the  languid  midsummer  wafts  adust, 

The  tired  midsummer  blooins ! 

0  the  mysterious  distances,  the  glooms 

Romantic,  the  august 

And    solemn    shapes!       At    night    this    City   of 

Trees 
Turns  to  a  tryst  of  vague  and  strange 
And  monstrous  Majesties, 
Let  loose  from  some  dim  underworld  to  range 
These  terrene  vistas  till  their  twilight  sets : 
When,  dispossessed  of  wonderfulness,  they  stand 
Beggared  and  common,  plain  to  all  the  land 
For  stooks  of  leaves !    And  lo !  the  wizard  hour 
Whose  shining,  silent  sorcery  hath  such  power ! 
Still,  still  the  streets,  between  their  carcanets 

17 


LONDON  VOLUNTARIES 

Of  linking  gold,  are  avenues  of  sleep  : 

But  see  how  gable  ends  and  parapets 

In  gradual  beauty  and  significance 

Emerge  !     And  did  you  bear 

That  little  twitter-and-cheep, 

Breaking  inordinately  loud  and  clear 

On  this  still,  spectral,  exquisite  atmosphere  ? 

'Tis  a  first  nest  at  matins !    And  behold 

A  rakehell  cat  —  how  furtive  and  acold ! 

A   spent  witch  homing  from   some    infamous 

dance  — 
Obscene,  quick-trotting,  see  her  tip  and  fade 
Through  shadowy  railings  into  a  pit  of  shade ! 
And  lo !  a  little  wind  and  shy, 
The  smell  of  ships  (that  earnest  of  romance), 
A  sense  of  space  and  water,  and  thereby 
A  lamplit  bridge  ouching  the  troubled  sky, 
And  look,  0  look !  a  tangle  of  silver  gleams 

18 


LONDON  VOLUNTARIES 

And  dusky  lights,  our  River  and  all  his  dreams, 
His  dreams  of  a  dead  past  that  cannot  die ! 

What  miracle  is  happening  in  the  air, 

Charging  the  very  texture  of  the  gray 

With  something  luminous  and  rare  ? 

The  night  goes  out  like  an  ill-parcelled  fire, 

And,  as  one  lights  a  candle,  it  is  day. 

The  extinguisher  that  fain  would  strut  for  spire 

On  the  formal  little  church  is  not  yet  green 

Across  the  water :  but  the  house-tops  nigher, 

The  corner-lines,  the  chimneys  —  look  how  clean, 

How  new,  how  naked !     See  the  batch  of  boats 

Here  at  the  stairs,  washed  in  the  fresh-sprung 

beam! 
And  those  are  barges  that  were  goblin  floats, 
Black, hag-steered, fraught  with  devilry  and  dream ! 
And  in  the  piles  the  water  frolics  clear, 

19 


LONDON  VOLUNTARIES 

The  ripples  into  loose  rings  wander  and  flee, 
And  we  —  we  can  behold  that  could  but  hear 
The  ancient  River  singing  as  he  goes 
New-mailed  in  morning  to  the  ancient  Sea. 
The  gas  burns  lank  and  jaded  in  its  glass: 
The  old  Ruffian  soon  shall  yawn  himself  awake, 
And  light  his  pipe,  and  shoulder  his  tools,  and  take 
His  hobnailed  way  to  work ! 

Let  us  too  pass : 
Through  these  long  blindfold  rows 
Of  casements  staring  blind  to  right  and  left, 
Each  with  his  gaze  turned  inward  on  some  piece 
Of  life  in  death's  own  likeness  —  Life  bereft 
Of  living  looks  as  by  the  Great  Release 
(Perchance  of  shadow-shapes  from  shadow-shows), 
Whose  upshot  all  men  know  yet  no  man  knows. 

Reach  upon  reach  of  burial  —  so  they  feel, 

20 


LONDON  VOLUNTARIES 

These  colonies  of  dreams !     And  as  we  steal 

Homeward  together,  but  for  the  buxom  breeze 

That  frolics  at  our  heel, 

Greeting  the  town  with  news  of  the  summer  seas, 

We  might  —  thus  awed,  thus  lonely  that  we  are  — 

Be  wandering  some  depopulated  star, 

Some  world  of  memories  and  unbroken  graves, 

So  broods  the  abounding  Silence  near  and  far : 

Till  even  your  footfall  craves 

Forgiveness  of  the  majesty  it  braves. 


21 


LONDON   VOLUNTARIES 


ir 

Scherzando 

Down  through  the  ancient  Strand 

The  Spirit  of  October,  mild  and  boon 

And  sauntering,  takes  his  way 

This  golden  end  of  afternoon, 

As  though  the  com  stood  yellow  in  all  the  land 

And  the  ripe  apples  dropped  to  the  harvest-moon. 

Lo !  the  round  sun,  half  down  the  western  slope  — 
Seen  as  along  a  glass-less  telescope  — 
Lingers  and  lolls,  loth  to  be  done  with  day : 
Gifting  the  long,  lean,  lanky  street 
And  its  abounding  confluences  of  being 
With  aspects  generous  and  bland : 
Making  a  thousand  harnesses  to  shine 

22 


LONDON  VOLUNTARIES 

As  with  new  ore  from  some  enchanted  mine, 
And  every  horse's  coat  so  full  of  sheen 
He  looks  new-tailored,  and  every  'bus  feels  clean, 
And  never  a  hansom  but  is  worth  the  feeing ; 
And  every  jeweller  within  the  pale 
Offers  a  real  Arabian  Night  for  sale  ; 
And  even  the  roar 

Of  the  strong  streams  of  toil  that  pause  and  pour 
Eastward  and  westward  sounds  suffused  — 
Seems  as  it  were  bemused 
And  blurred,  and  like  the  speech 
Of  lazy  seas  upon  a  lotus-eating  beach  — 
With  this  enchanted  lustrousness, 
This  mellow  magic,  that  (as  a  man's  caress 
Brings  back  to  some  faded  face  beloved  before 
A  heavenly  shadow  of  the  grace  it  wore 
Ere  the  poor  eyes  were  minded  to  beseech) 
Old  things  transfigures,  and  you  hail  and  bless 

23 


LONDON  VOLUNTARIES 

Their  looks  of  long-lapsed  loveliness  once  more ; 

Till  the  sedate  and  mannered  elegance 

Of  Clement's  is  all  tinctured  with  romance ; 

The  while  the  fanciful,  formal,  finicking  charm 

Of  Bride's,  that  madrigal  in  stone, 

Glows  flushed  and  warm 

And  beauteous  with  a  beauty  not  its  own ; 

And  the  high  majesty  of  Paul's 

Uplifts  a  voice  of  living  light,  and  calls — 

Calls  to  his  millions  to  behold  and  see 

How  goodly  this  his  London  Town  can  be  ! 

For  earth  and  sky  and  air 
Are  golden  everywhere, 
And  golden  with  a  gold  so  suave  and  fine 
The  looking  on  it  lifts  the  heart  like  wine. 
Trafalgar  Square 

(The  fountains  volleying  golden  glaze) 

24 


LONDON   VOLUNTARIES 

Gleams  like  an  angel-market.     High  aloft 
Over  his  couchant  Lions  in  a  haze 
Shimmering  and  bland  and  soft, 
A  dust  of  chrysoprase, 
Our  Sailor  takes  the  golden  gaze 
Of  the  saluting  sun,  and  flames  superb 
As  once  he  flamed  it  on  his  ocean  round. 
The  dingy  dreariness  of  the  picture-place, 
Turned  very  nearly  bright, 
Takes  on  a  certain  dismal  grace, 
And  shows  not  all  a  scandal  to  the  ground. 
The  very  blind  man  pottering  on  the  kerb, 
Among  the  posies  and  the  ostrich  feathers 
And  the  rude  voices  touched  with  all  the  weathers 
Of  all  the  varying  year, 
Shares  in  the  universal  alms  of  light. 
The  windows,  with  their  fleeting,  flickering  fires, 
The  height  and  spread  of  frontage  shining  sheer, 

25 


LONDON  VOLUNTARIES 

Tho    glistering    signs,    the    rejoicing    roofs    and 

spires  — 
'Tis  El  Dorado  —  El  Dorado  plain. 
The  Golden  City !    And  when  a  girl  goes  by, 
Look !  as  she  turns  her  glancing  head, 
A  call  of  gold  is  floated  from  her  ear  ! 
Golden,  all  golden !     In  a  golden  glory, 
Long  lapsing  down  a  golden  coasted  sky, 
The  day  not  dies  but  seems 
Dispersed  in  wafts  and  drifts  of  gold,  and  shed 
Upon  a  past  of  golden  song  and  story 
And  memories  of  gold  and  golden  dreams. 


26 


LONDON  VOLUNTARIES 


in 


Largo  e  mesto 


Out  of  the  poisonous  East, 

Over  a  continent  of  blight, 

Like  a  maleficent  Influence  released 

From  the  most  squalid  cellarage  of  hell, 

The  Wind-Fiend,  the  abominable  — 

The  hangman  wind  that  tortures  temper  and 

light  — 
Comes  slouching,  sullen  and  obscene, 
Hard  on  the  skirts  of  the  embittered  night, 
And  in  a  cloud  unclean 
Of  excremental  humours,  roused  to  strife 
By  the  operation  of  some  ruinous  change 
Wherever  his  evil  mandate  run  and  range 
Into  a  dire  intensity  of  life, 

27 


LONDON  VOLUNTARIES 

A  craftsman  at  his  bench,  he  settles  down 
To  the  grim  job  of  throttling  London  Town. 

And,  by  a  jealous  lightlessness  beset 

That  might  have  oppressed  the  dragons  of  old 

time 
Crunching  and  groping  in  the  abysmal  slime, 
A  cave  of  cut-throat    thoughts    and    villainous 

dreams, 
Hag-rid  and  crying  with  cold  and  dirt  and  wet, 
The  afflicted  city,  prone  from  mark  to  mark 
In  shameful  occultation,  seems 
A  nightmare  labyrinthine,  dim  and  drifting, 
With  wavering  gulfs  and  antic  heights  and  shifting 
Rent  in  the  stuff  of  a  material  dark 
Wherein  the  lamplight,  scattered  and  sick  and  pale, 
Shows  like  the  leper's  living  blotch  of  bale : 
Uncoiling  monstrous  into  street  on  street 

28 


LONDON  VOLUNTARIES 

Paven  with  perils,  teeming  with  mischance, 
Where  man  and  beast  go  blindfold  and  in  dread, 
Working  with  oaths  and  threats  and  faltering  feet 
Somewhither  in  the  hideonsuess  ahead ; 
Working  through  wicked  airs  and  deadly  dews 
That  make  the  laden  robber  grin  askance 
At  the  good  places  in  his  black  romance, 
And  the  poor,  loitering  harlot  rather  choose 
Go  pinched  and  pined  to  bed 
Than  lurk  and  shiver  and  curse  her  wretched  way 
From  arch  to  arch,  scouting  some  threepenny  prey. 

Forgot  his  dawns  and  far-flushed  afterglows, 
His  green  garlands  and  windy  eyots  forgot, 
The  old  Father-River  flows, 
His  watchfires  cores  of  menace  in  the  gloom, 
As  he  came  oozing  from  the  Pit,  and  bore, 
Sunk  in  his  filthily  transfigured  sides, 

'29 


LONDON  VOLUNTARIES 

Shoals  of  dishonoured  dead  to  tumble  and  rot 

In  the  squalor  of  the  universal  shore  : 

His  voices  sounding  through  the  gruesome  air 

As  from  the  ferry  where  the  Boat  of  Doom 

With  her  blaspheming  cargo  reels  and  i-ides : 

The  while  his  children,  the  brave  ships, 

No  more  adventurous  and  fair, 

Nor   tripping    it    light   of   heel   as   home-bound 

brides, 
But  infamously  enchanted, 
Huddle  together  in  the  foul  eclipse, 
Or  feel  their  course  by  inches  desperately, 
As  through  a  tangle  of  alleys  murder-haunted, 
From  sinister  reach  to  reach  —  out  —  out  —  to  sea. 

And  Death  the  while  — 

Death  with  his  well-worn,  lean,  professional  smile, 
Death  in  his  threadbare  working  trim  — 

30 


LONDON   VOLUNTARIES 

Comes  to  your  bedside,  unannounced  and  bland, 

And  with  expert,  inevitable  hand 

Feels  at  your  windpipe,  Augers  you  in  the  lung, 

Or  flicks  the  clot  well  into  the  labouring  heart : 

Thus  signifying  unto  old  and  young, 

However  hard  of  mouth  or  wild  of  whim, 

'Tis  time — 'tis  time  by  his  ancient  watch  —  to  part 

With  books  and  women  and  talk  and  drink  and 

art: 
And  you  go  humbly  after  him 
To  a  mean  suburban  lodging :  on  the  way 
To  what  or  where 

Not  Death,  who  is  old  and  very  wise,  can  say  : 
And  you  —  how  should  you  care 
So  long  as,  unreclaimed  of  hell, 
The  Wind-Fiend,  the  insufferable, 
Thus  vicious  and  thus  patient  sits  him  down 
To  the  black  job  of  burking  London  Town  ? 

31 


LONDON  VOLUNTARIES 


rv 

Allegro  maestoso 

Spring  winds  that  blow 

As  over  leagues  of  myrtle -blooms  and  may; 

Bevies  of  spring'  clouds  trooping  slow, 

Like  matrons  heavy-bosomed  and  aglow 

With  the  mild  and  placid  pride  of  increase !    Nay, 

What  makes  this  insolent  and  comely  stream 

Of  appetence,  this  freshet  of  desire 

(Milk  from  the  wild  breasts  of  the  wilful  Day  !) 

Down  Piccadilly  dance  and  murmur  and  gleam 

In  genial  wave  on  wave  and  gyre  on  gyre  ? 

Why  does  that  nymph  unparalleled  splash  and 

churn 
The  wealth  of  her  enchanted  urn 
Till,  over-billowing  all  between 

152 


LONDON  VOLUNTARIES 

Her  cheerful  niargents  grey  and  living  green, 
It  floats  and  wanders,  glittering  and  fleeing, 
An  estuary  of  the  joy  of  being1? 
"Why  should  the  buxom  leafage  of  the  Park 
Touch  to  an  ecstasy  the  act  of  seeing  ? 
—  As  if  my  paramour,  my  bride  of  brides, 
Lingering  and  flushed,  mysteriously  abides 
In  some  dim,  eye-proof  angle  of  odorous  dark, 
Some  smiling  nook  of  green-and-golden  shade, 
In  the  divine  conviction  robed  and  crowned 
The  globe  fulfils  his  immemorial  round 
But  as  the  niarrying-place  of  all  things  made  ! 

There  is  no  man,  this  deifying  day, 
But  feels  the  primal  blessing  in  his  blood. 
The  sacred  impulse  of  the  May 
Brightening  like  sex  made  sunshine  through  her 
veins, 

33 


LONDON  VOLUNTARIES 

There  is  no  woman  but  disdains 

To  vail  the  ensigns  of  her  womanhood. 

None  but,  rejoicing,  flaunts  them  as  she  goes, 

Bounteous  in  looks  of  her  delicious  best, 

On  her  inviolable  quest : 

These  with  their  hopes,  with  their  sweet  secrets 

those, 
But  all  desirable  and  frankly  fair, 
As  each  were  keeping  some  most  prosperous  tryst, 
And  in  the  knowledge  went  imparadised. 
For  look !  a  magical  influence  everywhere, 
Look  how  the  liberal  and  transfiguring  air 
Washes  this  inn  of  memorable  meetings, 
This  centre  of  ravishments  and  gracious  greetings, 
Till,  through  its  jocund  loveliness  of  length 
A  tidal-i'ace  of  lust  from  shore  to  shore, 
A  brimming  reach  of  beauty  met  with  strength, 
It  shines  and  sounds  like  some  miraculous  dream, 

34 


LONDON  VOLUNTARIES 

Some  vision  multitudinous  and  agleani, 
Of  happiness  as  it  shall  be  evermore  ! 

Praise  God  for  giving 

Through  this  His  messenger  among  the  days 

His  word  the  life  He  gave  is  thrice-worth  living ! 

For  Pan,  the  bountiful,  imperious  Pan  — 

Not  dead,  not  dead,  as  dreamers  feigned, 

But  the  lush  genius  of  a  million  Mays 

Renewing  his  beneficent  endeavour !  — 

Still  reigns  and  triumphs,  as  he  hath  triumphed 

and  reigned 
Since  in  the  dim  blue  dawn  of  time 
The  universal  ebb-and-flow  began, 
To  sound  his  ancient  music,  and  prevails 
By  the  persuasion  of  his  mighty  rhyme 
Here  in  this  radiant  and  immortal  street 
Lavishly  and  omnipotently  as  ever 

35 


LONDON   VOLUNTARIES 

In  the  open  hills,  the  undissembling  dales, 
The  laughing-places  of  the  juvenile  eai'th. 
For  lo!   the  wills  of  man  and  woman  meet, 
Meet  and  are  moved,  each  unto  each  endeared 
As  once  in  Eden's  prodigal  bowers  befell, 
To  share  his  shameless,  elemental  mirth 
In  one  great  act  of  faith,  while  deep  and  strong. 
Incomparably  nerved  and  cheered, 
The  enormous  heart  of  London  joys  to  beat 
To  the  measures  of  his  rough,  majestic  song : 
The  lewd,  perennial,  overcnastering  spell 
That  keeps  the  rolling  universe  ensphered 
And  life  and  all  for  which  life  lives  to  long 
Wanton  and  wondrous  and  for  ever  well. 


36 


RHYMES 
AND. RHYTHMS 


37 


Where  forlorn  sunsets  flare  and  fade 

On  desolate  sea  and  lonely  sand, 
Out  of  the  silence  and  the  shade 

What  is  the  voice  of  strange  command 
Calling  you  still,  as  friend  calls  friend 

With  love  that  cannot  brook  delay, 
To  rise  and  follow  the  ways  that  wend 

Over  the  hills  and  far  away  ? 

Hark  in  the  city,  street  on  street 
A  roaring  reach  of  death  and  life, 

Of  vortices  that  clash  and  fleet 
And  ruin  in  appointed  strife, 
39 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

Hark  to  it  calling,  calling  clear, 

Calling  until  you  cannot  stay 
From  dearer  things  than  your  own  most  dear 

Over  the  hills  and  far  away. 

Out  of  the  sound  of  ebb  and  flow, 

Out  of  the  sight  of  lamp  and  star, 
It  calls  you  where  the  good  winds  blow, 

And  the  unchanging  meadows  are : 
From  faded  hopes  and  hopes  agleam, 

It  calls  you,  calls  you  night  and  day 
Beyond  the  dark  into  the  dream 

Over  the  hills  and  far  away. 


40 


RHYMES  AND   RHYTHMS 


ii 

A  desolate  shore, 

The  sinister  seduction  of  the  Moon, 

The  menace  of  the  irreclaimable  Sea. 

Flaunting,  tawdry  and  grim, 
From  cloud  to  cloud  along  her  beat, 
Leering  her  battered  and  inveterate  leer, 
She  signals  where  he  prowls  in  the  dark  alone, 
Her  horrible  old  man, 
Mumbling  old  oaths  and  warming 
His  villainous  old  bones  with  villainous  talk  — 
The  secrets  of  their  grisly  housekeeping 
Since  they  went  out  upon  the  pad 

41 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

In  the  first  twilight  of  self-conscious  Time : 

Growling,  obscene  and  hoarse, 

Tales  of  unnumbered  Ships, 

Goodly  and  strong,  Companions  of  the  Advance 

In  some  vile  alley  of  the  night 

Waylaid  and  bludgeoned  — 

Dead. 

Deep  cellared  in  primeval  ooze, 

Ruined,  dishonoured,  spoiled, 

They  he  where  the  lean  water-worm 

Crawls  free  of  their  secrets,  and  their  broken 

sides 
Bulge  with  the  slime  of  life.     Thus  they  abide, 
Thus  fouled  and  desecrate, 
The  summons  of  the  Trumpet,  and  the  while 
These  Twain,  their  murderers, 
Unravined,  imperturbable,  unsubdued, 

42 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

Hang  at  the  heels  of  their  children  —  She  aloft 

As  in  the  shining  streets, 

He  as  in  ambush  at  some  fetid  stair. 

The  stalwart  Ships, 

The  beautiful  and  bold  adventurers ! 

Stationed  out  yonder  in  the  isle, 

The  tall  Policeman, 

Flashing  his  bull's-eye,  as  he  peers 

About  him  in  the  ancient  vacancy, 

Tells  them  this  way  is  safety  —  this  way  home. 


43 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


in 

(To  R.  F.  B.) 

We  are  the  Choice  of  the  Will:  God,  when  He 

gave  the  word 
That  called  us  into  line,  set  in  our  hand  a  sword ; 

Set  us  a  sword  to  wield  none  else  could  lift  and 

draw, 
And  bade  us  forth  to  the  sound  of  the  trumpet 

of  the  Law. 

East  and  west  and  north,  wherever  the  battle 

grew, 
As  men  to  a  feast  we  fared,  the  work   of  the 

Will  to  do. 

44 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

Bent    upon    vast    beginnings,    bidding    anarchy 

cease  — 
(Had  we  hacked  it  to  the  Pit,  we  had  left  it  a 

place  of  peace !)  — 

Marching,  building,  sailing,  pillar  of  cloud  or  fire, 
Sons  of  the  Will,  we  fought  the  fight  of  the  Will, 
our  sire. 

Road  was  never  so  rough  that  we  left  its  purpose 

dark; 
Stark  was  ever  the  sea,  but  our  ships  were  yet 

more  stark ; 

We  tracked  the  winds  of  the  world  to  the  steps 

of  their  veiy  thrones  ; 
The  secret  parts  of  the  world  were  salted  with 

our  bones ; 

45 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

Till  now  the  name  of  names,  England,  the  name 

of  might, 
Flames  from  the  austral  bounds  to  the  ends  of 

the  northern  night; 

And  the  call  of  her  morning  dram  goes  in  a 

girdle  of  sound, 
Like  the  voice  of  the   sun  in   song,   the  great 

globe  round  and  round ; 

And  the  shadow  of  her  flag,  when  it  shouts  to  the 

mother-breeze, 
Floats  from  shore  to  shore  of  the  universal  seas ; 

And  the  loneliest  death  is  fair  with  a  memory  of 

her  flowers, 
And  the  end  of  the  road  to  Hell  with  the  sense 

of  her  dews  and  showers ! 
46 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

Who  says  that  we  shall  pass,  or  the  fame  of  us 

fade  and  die, 
While   the  living  stars  fulfil  their  round  in  the 

living  sky? 

For  the  sire  lives  in  his  sons,  and  they  pay  their 

father's  debt, 
And  the  Lion  has  left  a  whelp  wherever  his  claw 

was  set : 

And  the  Lion  in  his  whelps,  his  whelps  that 
none  shall  brave, 

Is  but  less  strong  than  Time  and  the  all-devour- 
ing Grave. 


47 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


IV 

It  came  with  the  threat  of  a  waning  moon 

And  the  wail  of  an  ebbing  tide, 
But  many  a  woman  has  lived  for  less, 

And  many  a  man  has  died ; 
For  life  upon  life  took  hold  and  passed, 

Strong  in  a  fate  set  free, 
Out  of  the  deep,  into  the  dark, 

On  for  the  years  to  be. 

Between  the  gleam  of  a  waning  moon 
And  the  song  of  an  ebbing  tide, 

Chance  upon  chance  of  love  and  death 
Took  wing  for  the  world  so  wide. 
48 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

Leaf  out  of  leaf  is  the  way  of  the  land, 
Wave  out  of  wave  of  the  sea  : 

And  who  shall  reckon  what  lives  may  live 
In  the  life  that  we  bade  to  be  ? 


49 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


Why,  my  heart,  do  we  love  her  so? 

(Geraldine,  Geraldine !)  — 
Why  does  the  great  sea  ebb  and  flow  I 

Why  does  the  round  world  spin  ? 
Geraldine,  Geraldine, 

Bid  me  my  life  renew, 
What  is  it  worth  unless  I  win, 

Love  —  love  and  you  ? 

Why,  my  heart,  when  we  speak  her  name 

(Geraldine,  Geraldine !), 
Throbs  the  word  like  a  flinging  flame  ? 

Why  does  the  spring  begin  ? 
50 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

Geraldine,  Geraldine, 

Bid  me  indeed  to  be, 
Open  your  heart  and  take  us  in, 

Love  —  love  and  me. 


51 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


VI 

Space  and  dread  and  the  dark  — 
Over  a  livid  stretch  of  sky 
Cloud-monsters  crawling  like  a  funeral 

train 
Of  huge  primeval  presences 
Stooping  beneath  the  weight 
Of  some  enormous,  rudimentary  grief ; 
While  in  the  haunting  loneliness 
The  far  sea  waits  and  wanders,  with  a 

sound 
As  of  the  trailing  skills  of  Destiny 
Passing  unseen 
52 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

To  some  immitigable  end 

With  her  grey  henchman,  Death. 

What  larve,  what  spectre  is  this 

Thrilling  the  wilderness  to  life 

As  with  the  bodily  shape  of  Fear  ? 

What  but  a  desperate  sense, 

A  strong  foreboding  of  those  dim, 

Interminable  continents,  forlorn 

And  many-silenced  in  a  dusk 

Inviolable  utterly,  and  dead 

As  the  poor  dead  it  huddles  and  swarms  and 

styes 
Id  hugger-mugger  through  eternity  ? 

Life  —  life  —  let  there  be  life  ! 
Better  a  thousand  times  the  roaring  hours 
When  wave  and  wind, 
53 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

Like  the  Arch -Murderer  iu  flight 
From  the  Avenger  at  his  heel, 
Storm  through  the  desolate  fastnesses 
And  wild  waste  places  of  the  world ! 

Life  —  give  me- life  until  the  end, 

That  at  the  very  top  of  being, 

The  battle-spirit  shouting  in  my  blood, 

Out  of  the  reddest  hell  of  the  fight 

I  may  be  snatched  and  flung 

Into  the  everlasting  lull, 

The  immortal,  incommunicable  dream. 


,»4 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


VII 

There  's  a  regret 
So  grinding',  so  immitigably  sad, 
Remorse  thereby  feels  tolerant,  even  glad. 
Do  you  not  know  it  yet  ? 

For  deeds  undone 

Rankle,  and  snarl,  and  hunger  for  their  due 
Till  there  seems  naught  so  despicable  as  you 
In  all  the  grin  o'  the  sun. 

Like  an  old  shoe 

The  sea  spurns  and  the  land  abhors,  you  lie 
About  the  beach  of  Time,  till  by-and-by 
Death,  that  derides  you  too  — 
55 


RHYMES  AND   RHYTHMS 

Death,  as  he  goes 

His  ragman's  rouud,  espies  you,  where  you  stray, 
With  half-an-eye,  and  kicks  you  out  of  his  way ; 
And  then  —  and  then,  who  knows 

But  the  kind  Grave 

Turns  on  you,  and  you  feel  the  convict  Worm, 
In  that  black  bridewell  working  out  his  term, 
Hanker  and  grope  and  crave  ? 

'  Poor  fool  that  might  — 

That  might,  yet  would  not,  dared  not,  let  this  be, 

Think  of  it,  here  and  thus  made  over  to  me 

In  the  implacable  night ! ' 

And  writhing,  fain 
And  like  a  lover,  he  his  fill  shall  take 
Where  no  triumphant  memory  lives  to  make 
His  obscene  victory  vain. 

56 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


VIII 

(To  J.  A.  C.) 

Fresh  from  his  fastnesses 
Wholesome  and  spacious, 
The  north  wind,  the  mad  huntsman, 
Halloos  on  his  white  hounds 
Over  the  grey,  roaring 
Reaches  and  ridges, 
The  forest  of  ocean, 
The  chace  of  the  world. 
Hark  to  the  peal 
Of  the  pack  in  full  cry, 
As  he  thongs  them  before  him, 
Swarming  voluminous, 
Weltering,  wide-wallowing, 
57 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

Till  in  a  ruining 
Chaos  of  energy, 
Hurled  on  their  quarry, 
They  crash  into  foam  ! 

Old  Indefatigable, 

Time's  right-hand  man,  the  sea 

Laughs  as  in  joy 

From  his  millions  of  wrinkles: 

Laughs  that  his  destiny, 

Great  with  the  greatness 

Of  triumphing  order, 

Shows  as  a  dwarf 

By  the  strength  of  his  heart 

And  the  might  of  his  hands. 

Master  of  masters, 
0  maker  of  heroes, 
58 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

Thunder  the  brave, 
Irresistible  message :  — 
'  Life  is  worth  living 
Through  every  grain  of  it 
From  the  foundations 
To  the  last  edge 
Of  the  cornerstone,  death.' 


59 


RHYMES  AND   RHYTHMS 


IX 

'  As  like  the  Woman  as  yon  can '  — 

(Thus  the  New  Adam  was  beguiled)  — 
'  So  shall  you  touch  the  Perfect  Man '  — 
(God  in  the  Garden  heard  and  smiled). 
'  Your  father  perished  with  his  day  : 

'  A  clot  of  passions  fierce  and  blind 
'  He  fought,  he  slew,  he  hacked  his  way : 
'  Your  muscles,  Child,  must  be  of  mind. 

'  The  Brute  that  lurks  and  irks  within, 

'  How,  till  you  have  him  gagged  and  bound, 
'  Escape  the  foullest  form  of  Sin  ? ' 

(God  in  the  Garden  laughed  and  frowned). 
60 


RHYMES  AND   RHYTHMS 

'  So  vile,  so  rank,  the  bestial  mood 
'  In  which  the  race  is  bid  to  be, 

'  It  wrecks  the  Rarer  Womanhood : 
'  Live,  therefore,  you,  for  Purity ! 

'  Take  for  your  mate  no  buxom  croup, 

'  No  girl  all  grace  aud  natural  will : 
'  To  make  her  happy  were  to  stoop 

'  From  light  to  dark,  from  Good  to  111. 
'  Choose  one  of  whom  your  grosser  make  '- 

(God  in  the  Garden  laughed  outright)  — 
'  The  true  refining  touch  may  take 

'  Till  both  attain  Life's  highest  height. 

'  There,  equal,  purged  of  soul  and  sense, 
'  Beneficent,  high-thinking,  just, 

'  Beyond  the  appeal  of  Violence, 
'  Incapable  of  common  Lust, 
61 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

'  In  mental  Marriage  still  prevail ' — 

(God  in  the  Garden  hid  Ins  face)  - 
'  Till  you  achieve  that  Female-Male 

'  In  Which  shall  culminate  the  race.' 


62 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


Midsummer  midnight  skies, 

Midsummer  midnight  influences  and  airs, 

The  shining  sensitive  silver  of  the  sea 

Touched  with  the  strange-hued  blazonings  of  dawn: 

And  all  so  solemnly  still  I  seem  to  hear 

The  breathing  of  Life  and  Death, 

The  secular  Accomplices, 

Renewing  the  visible  miracle  of  the  world. 

The  wistful  stars 

Shine  like  good  memories.    The  young  morning 

wind 
Blows  full  of  unforgotten  hours 

63 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

As  over  a  region  of  roses.    Life  and  Death 
Sound  on  —  sound  on.  .  .  .  And  the  night  magical, 
Troubled  yet  comforting,  thrills 
As  if  the  Enchanted  Castle  at  the  heart 
Of  the  wood's  dark  wonderment 
Swung  wide  his  valves  and  filled  the  dim  sea- 
banks 
With  exquisite  visitants : 
"Words  fiery-hearted  yet,  dreams  and  desires 
With  living  looks  intolerable,  regrets 
Whose  voice  comes  as  the  voice  of  an  only  child 
Heard  from  the  grave :  shapes  of  a  Might-Have- 

Been  — 
Beautiful,  miserable,  distraught  — 
The  Law  no  man  may  baffle  denied  and  slew. 

The  spell-bound  ships  stand  as  at  gaze 
To  let  the  marvel  by.    The  grey  road  glooms  .  .  . 

64 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

Glimmers  .  .  .  goes  out  .  .  .  and  there,  0  there 

where  it  fades, 
What  grace,  what  glamour,  what  wild  will, 
Transfigure  the  shadows "?    Whose, 
Heart  of  my  heart,  Soul  of  my  soul,  but  yours  ? 

Ghosts — ghosts  —  the  sapphiriue  air 
Teems  with  them  even  to  the  gleaming  ends 
Of  the  wild  day-spring !     Ghosts, 
Everywhere  —  everywhere  —  till  I  and  you 
At  last  —  dear  love,  at  last !  — 
Are  in  the  dreaming,  even  as  Life  and  Death, 
Twin-ministers  of  the  unoriginal  Will. 


65 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


XI 

Gulls  in  an  aery  niorrice 
Gleam  and  vanish  and  gleam 

The  full  sea,  sleepily  basking, 
Dreams  under  skies  of  drearn. 

Gulls  in  an  aery  morrice 
Circle  and  swoop  and  close 

Fuller  and  ever  fuller 

The  rose  of  the  morning  blows. 

Gulls  in  an  aery  morrice 

Frolicking  float  and  fade 
0  the  way  of  a  bird  in  the  sunshine ! 

The  way  of  a  man  with  a  maid ! 
66 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


XII 

Some  starlit  garden  grey  with  dew, 
Some  chamber  flushed  with  wine  and  fire, 
What  matters  where,  so  I  and  you 
Are  worthy  our  desire  ? 

Behind,  a  past  that  scolds  and  jeers 
For  ungirt  loin  and  lamp  unlit ; 
In  front  the  unmanageable  years, 
The  trap  upon  the  pit ; 

Think  on  the  shame  of  dreams  for  deeds, 
The  scandal  of  unnatural  strife, 
The  slur  upon  immortal  needs, 
The  treason  done  to  life : 
67 


RHYMES  AND   RHYTHMS 

Arise !  no  more  a  living  lie 
And  with  me  quicken  and  control 
A  memory  that  shall  magnify 
The  universal  Soul. 


68 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


xin 

(To  James  McNeill  Whistler) 

Under  a  stagnant  sky, 
Gloom  out  of  gloom  uncoiling  into  gloom, 
The  River,  jaded  and  forlorn, 
Welters  and  wanders  wearily  —  wretchedly  —  on  ; 
Yet  in  and  out  among  the  ribs 
Of  the  old  skeleton  bridge,  as  in  the  piles 
Of  some  dead  lake-built  city,  full  of  skulls, 
Worm-worn,  rat-riddled,  mouldy  with  memories, 
Lingers  to  babble,  to  a  broken  tune 
(Once,  0  the  unvoiced  music  of  my  heart !) 
So  melancholy  a  soliloquy 
It  sounds  as  it  might  tell 
The  secret  of  the  unending  grief -in-grain, 

G9 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

The  terror  of  Time  and  Change  and  Death, 
That  wastes  this  floating  transitory  world. 

What  of  the  incantation 

That  forced  the  huddled  shapes  on  yonder  shore 
To  take  and  wear  the  night 
Like  a  material  majesty  ? 
That  touched  the  shafts  of  wavering  fire 
About  this  miserable  welter  and  wash  — 
(River,  0  River  of  Journeys,  River  of  Dreams !— ) 
Into  long,  shining  signals  from  the  panes 
Of  an  enchanted  pleasure-house 
Where  life  and  life  might  live  life  lost  in  life 
For  ever  and  evermore  ? 
0  Death  !  0  Change  !  0  Time ! 
Without  you,  0  the  insufferable  eyes 
Of  these  poor  Might-Have-Beens, 
These  fatuous,  ineffectual  Yesterdays ! 

70 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


XIV 

Time  and  the  Earth  — 

The  old  Father  and  Mother— 

Their  teeming  accomplished, 

Their  purpose  fulfilled, 

Close  with  a  smile 

For  a  moment  of  kindness 

Ere  for  the  winter 

They  settle  to  sleep. 

Fading  yet  gracious, 
Slow  pacing,  soon  homing, 
A  patriarch  that  strolls 
Through  the  tents  of  his  children, 
The  Sun,  as  he  journeys 
His  round  on  the  lower 
71 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

Ascents  of  the  blue, 

Washes  tbe  roofs 

And  the  hillsides  with  clarity ; 

Charms  the  dark  pools 

Till  they  break  into  pictures  ; 

Scatters  magnificent 

Alms  to  the  beggar  trees  ; 

Touches  the  mist-folk 

That  crowd  to  his  escort 

Into  trauslucencies 

Radiant  and  ravishing 

As  with  the  visible 

Spirit  of  Summer, 

Gloriously  vaporised, 

Visioned  in  gold. 

Love,  though  the  fallen  leaf 
Mark,  and  the  fleeting  light 

72 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

And  the  loud,  loitering 

Footfall  of  darkness 

Sign,  to  the  heart 

Of  the  passage  of  destiny, 

Here  is  the  ghost 

Of  a  summer  that  lived  for  us, 

Here  is  a  promise 

Of  summers  to  be. 


73 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


xv 

You  played  and  sang  a  snatch  of  song, 

A  song  that  ail-too  well  we  knew ; 
But  whither  had  flown  the  ancient  wrong ; 

And  was  it  really  I  and  you  ? 
0  since  the  end  of  life  's  to  live 

And  pay  in  pence  the  common  debt, 
What  should  it  cost  us  to  forgive 

Whose  daily  task  is  to  forget  ? 

You  babbled  in  the  well-known  voice  — 
Not  new,  not  new,  the  words  you  said. 

You  touched  me  off  that  famous  poise, 
That  old  effect,  of  neck  and  head. 

74 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

Dear,  was  it  really  you  and  I  ? 

In  truth  the  riddle  's  ill  to  read, 
So  many  are  the  deaths  we  die 

Before  we  can  be  dead  indeed. 


75 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


XVI 

One  with  the  ruined  sunset, 
The  strange  forsaken  sands, 

What  is  it  waits  and  wanders 
And  signs  with  despei'ate  hands  ? 

What  is  it  calls  in  the  twilight  — 
Calls  as  its  chance  were  vain  *? 

The  cry  of  a  gull  sent  seaward 
Or  the  voice  of  an  ancient  pain  ? 

The  red  ghost  of  the  sunset, 
It  walks  them  as  its  own, 

These  dreary  and  desolate  reaches 
But  0  that  it  walked  alone ! 
76 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


XVII 

CARMEN  PATIBULARE 

(To  H.  S.) 

Tree,  Old  Tree  of  the  Triple  Crook 

And  the  rope  of  the  Black  Election, 
'Tis  the  faith  of  the  Fool  that  a  race  you  rule 

Can  never  achieve  perfection : 
And  '  It 's  0  for  the  time  of  the  New  Sublime 

And  the  better  than  humau  way 
When  the  Wolf  (poor  beast)  shall  come  to  his 
own 

And  the  Rat  shah  have  his  day ! ' 

For  Tree,  Old  Tree  of  the  Triple  Beam 
And  the  power  of  provocation, 

77 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

You  have  cockered  the  Brute  with  your  dreadful 
fruit 

Till  your  thought  is  mere  stupration  : 
And  '  It 's  how  should  we  rise  to  be  pure  and  wise, 

And  how  can  we  choose  but  fall, 
So  long  as  the  Hangman  makes  us  dread 

And  the  Noose  floats  free  for  all  ¥  ' 


So  Tree,  Old  Tree  of  the  Triple  Coign 

And  the  trick  there  's  no  recalling, 
They   will  haggle  and  hew  till  they  hack  you 
through 

And  at  last  they  lay  you  sprawling : 
When  '  Hey !  for  the  hour  of  the  race  in  flower 

And  the  long  good-bye  to  sin ! ' 
And  '  Ho !  for  the  fires  of  Hell  gone  out 

For  the  want  of  keeping  in  ! ' 

78 


RHYMES  AND   RHYTHMS 

But  Tree,  Old  Tree  of  the  Triple  Bough 

And  the  ghastly  Dreams  that  tend  you, 
Your  growth  began  with  the  life  of  Man 

And  only  his  death  can  end  you : 
They  may  tug  in  line  at  your  hempen  twine, 

They  may  flourish  with  axe  and  saw, 
But  your  taproot  drinks  of  the  Sacred  Springs 

In  the  living  rock  of  Law. 


And  Tree,  Old  Tree  of  the  Triple  Fork, 

When  the  spent  sun  reels  and  blunders 
Down  a  welkin  lit  with  the  flare  of  the  Pit 

As  it  seethes  in  spate  and  thunders, 
Stern  on  the  glare  of  the  tortured  air 

Your  lines  august  shall  gloom, 
And  your  master-beam  be  the  last  thing  whelmed 

In  the  ruining  roar  of  Doom. 

79 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


XVIII 

(To  M.  E.  H.) 

When  you  wake  in  your  crib, 
You,  an  inch  of  experience  — 
Vaulted  about 

With  the  wonder  of  darkness ; 
Wailing  and  striving 
To  reach  from  your  feebleness 
Something  you  feel 
Will  be  good  to  and  cherish  you, 
Something  you  know 
And  can  rest  upon  blindly : 
0  then  a  hand 

(Your  mothei*'s,  your  mother's !) 
By  the  fall  of  its  fingers 
80 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

All  knowledge,  all  power  to  you, 
Out  of  the  dreary, 
Discouraging  strangenesses 
Conies  to  and  masters  you, 
Takes  you,  and  lovingly 
Woos  you  and  soothes  you 
Back,  as  you  cling  to  it, 
Back  to  some  comforting 
Corner  of  Sleep. 

So  you  wake  in  your  bed, 
Having  lived,  having  loved  : 
But  the  shadows  are  there, 
And  the  world  and  its  kingdoms 
Incredibly  faded ; 
And  you  grope  in  the  Terror 
Above  you  and  under 
For  the  light,  for  the  warmth, 
81 


RHYMES  AND   RHYTHMS 

The  assurance  of  life ; 
But  the  blasts  are  ice-born, 
And  your  heart  is  nigh  burst 
With  the  weight  of  the  gloom 
And  the  stress  of  your  strangled 
And  desperate  endeavour : 
Sudden  a  hand  — 
Mother,  0  Mother!  — 
God  at  His  best  to  you, 
Out  of  the  roaring, 
Impossible  silences, 
Falls  on  and  urges  you, 
Mightily,  tenderly, 
Forth,  as  you  clutch  at  it, 
Forth  to  the  infinite 
Peace  of  the  Grave. 


82 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


XIX 

0  Time  and  Change,  they  range  and  range 

From  sunshine  round  to  thunder !  — 
They  glance  and  go  as  the  great  winds  blow, 

And  the  best  of  our  dreams  drive  under : 
For  Time  and  Change  estrange,  estrange  — 

And,  now  they  have  looked  and  seen  us. 
0  we  that  were  dear  we  are  ail-too  near 

With  the  thick  of  the  world  between  us. 

0  Death  and  Time,  they  chime  and  chime 

Like  bells  at  sunset  falling  !  — 
They  end  the  song,  they  right  the  wrong, 

They  set  the  old  echoes  calling  : 
83 


RHYMES  AND   RHYTHMS 

For  Death  and  Time  bring  on  the  prime 
Of  God's  own  chosen  weather, 
And  we  lie  in  the  peace  of  the  Great  Release 
As  once  in  the  grass  together. 


84 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


xx 

The  shadow  of  Dawn ; 

Stillness  and  stars  and  over-mastering  dreams 

Of  Life  and  Death  and  Sleep ; 

Heard  over  gleaming  flats  the  old  unchanging 

sound 
Of  the  old  unchanging  Sea. 

My  soul  and  yours  — 

0  hand  hi  hand  let  us  fare  forth,  two  ghosts, 
Into  the  ghostliness, 
The  infinite  and  abounding  solitudes, 
Beyond  —  0  beyond  !  —  beyond  .  .  . 

85 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

Here  in  the  porch 

Upon  the  multitudinous  silences 

Of  the  kingdoms  of  the  grave, 

We  twain  are  you  and  I  —  two  ghosts  Omnipotence 

Can  touch  no  more  —  no  more  ! 


86 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


XXI 

When  the  wind  storms  by  with  a  shout  and  the 

stern  sea-caves 
Exult  in  the  tramp   and  the  roar  of  onsetting 

waves, 
Then,  then,  it  comes  home  to  the  heart  that  the 

top  of  life 
Is  the  passion  that  burns  the  blood  in  the  act  of 

strife  — 
Till  you  pity  the  dead  down  there  in  their  quiet 

graves. 

But  to  drowse  with  the  fen  behind  aud  the  fog 

before, 
When  the  rain-rot  spreads  and  a  tame  sea  mumbles 

the  shore, 

87 


RHYMES  AND   RHYTHMS 

Not  to  adventure,  none  to  fight,  no  right  and  no 

wrong, 
Sons  of  the  Sword  heart-sick  for  a  stave  of  your 

sire's  old  song  — 
0  you  envy  the  blessed  dead  that  can  hve  no 

more ! 


88 


RHYMES   AND   RHYTHMS 


XXII 

Trees  and  the  menace  of  night ; 

Then  the  long,  lonely,  leaden  mere 

Backed  by  a  desolate  fell 

As  by  a  spectral  battlement ;  and  then, 

Low-brooding,  interpenetrating  all, 

A  vast,  grey,  listless,  inexpressive  sky 

So  beggared,  so  incredibly  bereft 

Of  starlight  and  the  song  of  racing  worlds 

It  might  have  bellied  down  upon  the  Void 

Where  as  in  terror  Light  was  beginning  to  be. 

Hist !     In  the  trees  fulfilled  of  night 
(Night  and  the  wretchedness  of  the  sky) 
89 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

Is  it  the  hurry  of  the  rain  ? 
Or  the  noise  of  a  drive  of  the  Dead 
Streaming  before  the  irresistible  Will 
Through  the  strange  dusk  of  this,  the 

Debateable  Land 
Between  their  place  and  ours? 

Like  the  forgetfulness 
Of  the  work-a-day  world  made  visible, 
A  mist  falls  from  the  melancholy  sky : 
A  messenger  from  some  lost  and  loving 

soul, 
Hopeless,  far  wandered,  dazed 
Here  in  the  provinces  of  life, 
A  great  white  moth  fades  miserably  past. 

Thro'  the  trees  in  the  strange  dead  night, 
Under  the  vast  dead  sky, 
90 


RHYMES  AND   RHYTHMS 

Forgetting  and  forgot,  a  drift  of  Dead 
Sets  to  the  mystic  mere,  the  phantom 

fell, 
The  unimagined  vastitudes  beyond. 


91 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


XXIII 

(To  P.  A.  G.) 

Here  they  trysted,  here  they  strayed, 

In  the  leafage  dewy  and  boon, 
Many  a  man  and  many  a  maid, 

And  the  morn  was  merry  June  : 
'  Death  is  fleet,  Life  is  sweet,' 

Sang  the  blackbird  in  the  may ; 
And  the  hour  with  flying  feet 

While  they  dreamed  was  yesterday. 

Many  a  maid  and  many  a  man 
Found  the  leafage  close  and  boon  ; 

Many  a  destiny  began  — 

O  the  morn  was  merry  June. 
92 


RHYMES  AND   RHYTHMS 

Dead  and  gone,  dead  and  gone, 
(Hark  the  blackbird  in  the  may  ! ), 

Life  and  Death  went  hurrying  on, 
Cheek  on  cheek  —  and  where  were  they  ? 

Dust  in  dust  engendering  dust 

In  the  leafage  fresh  and  boon, 
Man  and  maid  fulfil  then'  trust  — 

Still  the  morn  turns  merry  June. 
Mother  Life,  Father  Death 

(0  the  blackbird  in  the  may  !), 
Each  the  other's  breath  for  breath. 

Fleet  the  times  of  the  world  away. 


93 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


XXIV 


(To  A.  C.) 


What  should  the  Trees, 
Midsummer-manifold,  each  one, 
Voluminous,  a  labyrinth  of  life  — 
What  should  such  things  of  bulk  and  multitude 
Yield  of  their  huge,  unutterable  selves, 
To  the  random  importunity  of  Day, 
The  blabbing  journalist1? 
Alert  to  snatch  and  publish  hour  by  hour 
Their  greenest  hints,  their  leafiest  privacies, 
How  can  he  other  than  endure 
The  ruminant  irony  that  foists  him  off 

94 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

With  broad-blown  falsehoods,  or  the  obviousness 

Of  laughter  flickering  back  from  shine  to  shade, 

And  disappearances  of  homing  birds, 

And  frolicsome  freaks 

Of  little  boughs  that  frisk  with  little  boughs  ? 


Now,  at  the  word 
Of  the  ancient,  sacerdotal  Night, 
Night  of  the  many  secrets,  whose  effect  — 
Transfiguring,  hierophantic,  dread  — 
Themselves  alone  may  fully  apprehend, 
They  tremble  and  are  changed : 
In  each,  the  uncouth  individual  soul 
Looms  forth  and  glooms 
Essential,  and,  their  bodily  presences 
Touched  with  inordinate  significance, 
Wearing  the  darkness  like  the  livery 

95 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

Of  some  mysterious  and  tremendous  guild, 

They  brood  —  they  menace  —  they  appal : 

Or  the  anguish  of  prophecy  tears  them,  and  they 

wring 
Wild  hands  of  warning  in  the  face 
Of  some  inevitable  advance  of  doom  : 
Or,  each  to  the  other  bending,  beckoning,  signing, 
As  in  some  monstrous  market-place, 
They  pass  the  news,  these  Gossips  of  the  Prime, 
In  that  old  speech  their  forefathers 
Learned  on  the  lawns  of  Eden,  ere  they  heard 
The  troubled  voice  of  Eve 
Naming  the  wondering  folk  of  Paradise. 


Your  sense  is  sealed,  or  you  should  hear  them  tell 
The  tale  of  their  dim  life  and  all 
Its  compost  of  experience  :  how  the  Sun 

96 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

Spreads  them  their  daily  feast, 

Sumptuous,  of  light,  firing  them  as  with  wine  ; 

Of  the  old  Moon's  fitful  solicitude 

And  those  mild  messages  the  Stars 

Descend  in  silver  silences  and  dews  ; 

Or  what  the  buxom  West, 

Wanton  with  wading  in  the  swirl  of  the  wheat, 

Said,  and  their  leafage  laughed ; 

And  how  the  wet- winged  Angel  of  the  Rain 

Came  whispering  .   .    .  whispering ;  and  the  gifts 

of  the  Year  — 
The  sting  of  the  stirring  sap 
Under  the  wizai'dry  of  the  young-eyed  Spring, 
Their  summer  amplitudes  of  pomp 
And  rich  autumnal  melancholy,  and  the  shrill, 
Embittered  housewifery 
Of  the  lean  Winter  :  all  such  things, 
And  with  them  all  the  goodness  of  the  Master 

97 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

Whose    right    hand    blesses    with    increase  and 

life, 
Whose  left  hand  honours  with  decay  and  death. 

So,  under  the  constraint  of  Night, 

These  gross  and  simple  creatures, 

Each  in  his  scores  of  rings,  which  rings  are  years, 

A  servant  of  the  Will. 

And  God,  the  Craftsman,  as  he  walks 

The  floor  of  His  workshop,  hearkens,  full  of  cheer 

In  thus  accomplishiug 

The  aims  of  His  miraculous  artistry. 


98 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 


XXV 

What  have  I  done  for  you, 

England,  my  England  ? 
What  is  there  I  would  not  do, 

England  my  own  ? 
With  your  glorious  eyes  austere, 
As  the  Lord  were  walking  near, 
Whispering  terrible  things  and  dear 

As  the  song  on  your  bugles  blown, 
Eu  gland  — 

Round  the  world  on  your  bugles  blown ! 

Where  shall  the  watchful  Sun, 

England,  my  England, 
Match  the  master- work  you  've  done, 

England  my  own  ? 
99 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

When  shall  he  rejoice  agen 
Such  a  breed  of  mighty  men 
As  come  forward,  one  to  ten, 

To  the  Song  on  your  bugles  blown, 
England  — 

Down  the  years  on  your  bugles  blown  ? 


Ever  the  faith  endures, 

England,  my  England :  — 
'  Take  and  break  us  :  we  are  yours, 

'  England,  my  own ! 
'  Life  is  good,  and  joy  runs  high 
'  Between  English  earth  and  sky : 
1  Death  is  death  ;  but  we  shall  die 

'  To  the  Song  on  your  bugles  blown, 
'  England  — 

'  To  the  stars  on  your  bugles  blown  ! ' 
100 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

They  call  you  proud  and  hard, 

England,  my  England : 
You  with  worlds  to  watch  and  ward, 

England,  my  own ! 
You  whose  mailed  hand  keeps  the  keys 
Of  such  teeming  destinies 
You  could  know  nor  dread  nor  ease 

Were  the  Song  on  your  bugles  blown, 
England, 

Round  the  Pit  on  your  bugles  blown ! 


Mother  of  Ships  whose  might, 

England,  my  England, 
Is  the  fierce  old  Sea's  delight, 

England,  my  own, 
Chosen  daughter  of  the  Lord, 
Spouse-in- Chief  of  the  ancient  Sword, 
101 


RHYMES  AND  RHYTHMS 

There  's  the  menace  of  the  Word 

In  the  Song  on  your  bugles  blown, 

England  — 
Out  of  heaven  on  your  bugles  blown ! 


102 


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